


caress me down

by badAquatic, orphan_account



Series: Trailerstuck [13]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Bathing/Washing, Cross-Generation Relationship, Dreams, Drinking & Talking, F/M, Friendzoning is like the mob, Ghosts, Hallucinations, Horn Stimulation, Illustrated, Interspecies, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Moving In Together, Platonic Romance, Underage Drinking, Xenophilia, cronus is a fussy mom, grandma redglare is hilarious, terezi is a bluh bluh huge nerd, troll anime is awesome, troll anime is terrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 17:12:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two boxes. A decade and change of living here and your existence from grubhood to adolescence can neatly fit into two medium-sized cardboard boxes. You knew your room was small but you never thought it would end up being this compact. </p><p>Trailerstuck Main Story is back on: Karkat moves out. Cronus fusses. And Kankri drinks. Same old same old? Maybe. Maybe not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. two boxes

**== >Karkat: Move out **

Two boxes. A decade and change of living here and your existence from grubhood to adolescence can neatly fit into two medium-sized cardboard boxes. You knew your room was small but you never thought it would end up being this compact. You gave away most of your toys to charity at the start of high school and what you believed held value could fit into a plastic bag. You don’t really need your sheets, your pillow, or your daybed since Strider’s is far more comfortable. You don’t need your recuperacoon since you’re a mutantblood and can just abide by the occasional sopor pill if the nightmares get too troublesome.  

You drain the stagnant sopor out of your recuperacoon, roll up your Troll Will Smith and Troll Serendipity posters, and place your DVDs in the box. Your mother helps you fold up your sheets and insists you take your pillows with you, that you take an extra sweater and some socks for when you get cold.  

“Always knew you’d be moving out,” he says, “Never figured it would be across the street; stayin’ with an ape on top of that. If this was the Fifth Age I’d be wonderin’ what the neighbors would say ‘bout my son staying with a milk-pale ape with the big shades.”

You frown, “Please do not pick this as the time to come out as a human-hating bigot despite being King of the Planet of the Apes when you were my age.”

Cronus shakes his head, “No. Just want to make sure you’re makin’ the right choice, Karkat. Humans are alright but they’re not trolls. Sometimes they don’t ‘get’ quadrants and things like that. They say they’re okay with it and then it turns out they’re not.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom.” You pick up the boxes. There’s nothing in there to strain your back and Jake already helped you take out the heavier stuff and move it across the street—mainly your bulky pants and sweaters.  

“You realize you’ll have to find a way to pay rent now. There’s no way they’ll let you just stay there for fuckin’ free.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mom.”

“And if he mistreats you in _any way_ , you just call me and I’ll punch him so fuckin’ hard—”

_“Mom!”_

You stand up and look at your mother, carrying two cardboard boxes—one stacked right on top of the other. You sigh, “I’m not a little grub anymore, Mom. I can take care of myself. I don’t start crying the minute I can’t see your face because you’ve magically poofed out of existance.”

That doesn’t ease Cronus’s fussing though. What makes it worse is that you can tell when your mother’s uneasy because his ear-fins start fluffing out, like he’s trying to make himself bigger and fight off any predators.  “I just worry you’re gonna get _hurt_ , Kar.  You’re still a warmblood and you’re a little guy. You can’t fight for shit and you’re still a target. Plus, there are plenty of crazy folks who take offense to trolls and apes dating. I know I’m just fussing but…well shit…you’re my _son._ Don’t want to see you _ever_ get hurt, Kar.”

“Yeah, I know. At least with Strider he can’t knock me up and’s pretty heavily armed. No New Jack City troll’s going to hurt a human; not without a death wish.” You try to give your mother a sympathetic smile when you ask, “How’s Kankri…?”

Cronus shrugs, “The same, I guess.”

Which means the minute Kankri left the hospital after the attack; he got a drink and then kept drinking until he had torn enough holes in his brain to smudge the finer details of what had happened to him. Presently he was laying on the couch, mumbling in post-hangover pre-binge drinking daze.  

“How his liver has _not_ imploded by now in an alcoholic mushroom cloud will forever be a mystery to me.”

You walk out of your room with your mother following. The trailer is a mess which means Kankri must have gone on a serious bender last night. You can smell the thick layer of Febreeze trying to cover up the sour stench of vomit.  

“His father was a drinker too. Just because your grandfather was nice to you does not make him entirely blameless.” Cronus looks down, “No one’s truly perfect.”

You walk to the door and don’t bother talking to, or even looking at Kankri, who is slumped over at the couch and mumbling to himself. Cronus opens the door for you.

You nod to him, “Thanks.”

Cronus smiles, “No problems just…just take care of yourself, son.”

You frown, “I always do, Mom. Stop worrying already.”

Your mother still has that look in his indigo eyes of “oh my gods look at my little grub growing up and living off on his own with his alien boyfriend across the street he’s so big and grown up now”.

You sigh and walk out the door, “I’m not going to be gone _forever_ , Mom. I’m just across the street.”

“I _know_ that! I’m not _that_ overprotective!” Cronus huffs.

You walk across the street. It’s Saturday and the weather is sunny in the late summer morning. You could have waited until later to get your things but you’d rather get it out of the way—plus you knew Kankri would be too hung-over to talk to you. Jake is standing on the porch of the Strider-English mobilehive, looking at you.

Jake chuckles, “How does it feel to finally move away from home?”

You roll your eyes and walk into the mobilehive, “I’m not even a _mile_ away from my parents.”

“Tsk tsk, my grey chum! Don’t dust off a big accomplishment when it’s plopped into your broad lap.” Jake shuts the door behind you, “It’s still a big step in a young man’s life—striking out on one’s own, cooking up meals, learning to pick up after himse— _ow_! Bloody hell! _Dirk!_ What did I say about leaving your swords on the ground!”  

“Can’t hear you, Jake. Grilling.” Dirk calls from the other side of the mobilehive.

“ _Yes you bloody can! I nearly nicked my foot on this bloody sword of yours again—”_

Oh yeah, this is _definitely_ striking out on your own and totally not living in a college dorm masquerading as owned by (allegedly) responsible adults.

You enter Dave’s room and use your hips to push the door closed. With another grunt, you place the boxes on the floor. Strider is sitting on the bed. He’s commandeered a small table for his turntables to sit on. His fingers press and slide along the buttons. He’s been at it all morning—like some painter staring at the blank canvas.

“I return from the Land of Melancholy and Alcohol.” you announce.

“Are you taking up playing Sgrubs ’n’ Burbs?” Strider asks.

You climb onto the bed and sit behind him. You put your chin on the crux where neck meets shoulder. “No, but that’s what it would be called if Kankri was a S’n’B nerd.” You smirk, “I thought cool kids didn’t play roleplaying games?”

“I talk to enough nerds to know about it. John and Rose play World of Skaianet together. That’s pretty much S’n’B for anyone who hates pen and paper RPGs.”

“So it’s more like cool kids are nerd bait.”

“Rose isn’t as big of a nerd as Jo— _hey._ Karkat. No. What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Karkat, how can I practice my sick beats with you biting my ear and trying to take my pants off? Is this why you closed the door, you devious little bastard?”

You smirk and brush your chapped lips over the warm pale skin of Dave’s neck. You feel a small tremor go through his muscles. “You know what you should be practicing?”

“What?”

“Kissing me.” and you bite the outer shell of his ear again, purring.

Strider arches an eyebrow, “Why do I need to practice that?”

“Because you’ve been turntabling or whatever the fuck have you all morning and it’s Saturday and as your matesprite I demand attention.” You add to your point by gently headbutting the side of his head.

“Don’t you have any troll friends to bother?”

A pale hand reaches up and before you can duck away, it seizes your right horn. You shudder.

“F-fuck! Hey, don’t f-fucking touch _those_.”

“Why not? You were just headbutting me.”

“That’s a _friendly_ headbutt, dickbag. It means I want your attention.”

Strider smirks and turns from his turntables. He still has you by the horns so you’ve got no choice but to twist and bend as he wants. The stupid smug fucker is grinning at you too. You can see his eyes behind the shades, looking you up and down—watching you gasp as he moves you further onto the bed. The warmth of his hands are still on your horns, radiating down into your skin.

You lay on the bed and he looks down at you. 

He says,

“Well, you were asking for some horn grabbing action by doing that. Heh.”

“E-easy on the horns…still wired into m-my brain…” you gasp.

Strider leans in close, still grasping by the horn. He smells of aftershave. He kisses you and his face feels softer than usual against yours, newly shaven and warm.  

“You are too adorable, Karkat. Seriously.”

You kiss him back, “How in fuck am I adorable? I’m a troll; a bloodthirsty, angry grey alien made of self-loathing, pity, and hatred from a harsh alien planet where the sun was as bloated and red as Kankri’s eyes when he’s hungover and the very light of it could blind you. My claws could tear you to ribbons so very easily…”

Strider smirks and then— _oh fuck him and his stupid shades—_ his thumb _rubs_ on your horn, trailing the digit between the ridges and pressing on the tiny velvety hairs there. Shockwaves go down your spine. You emit a keening whine you’re none too proud and then the fucker does it again and—and _fuck_ —right now he could be asking you anything and you’d just have to agree as long as kept doing _that_.

“Oh yes. You are _so_ blood thirsty right now. I’m quaking in my sneakers.” 

He rubs again. You moan louder. The heat is rising to your face. Oh. Fuck this fucker. Fuck him for exploiting your weakspot. Fuck him for being able to dissolve your inhibitions with _just the one fucking horn._

“Oh, I _know_ that look.”

“Fuck…fuck you Strider… _ohh…_ ”

“But that’s what you want…”

He lets go of your horn and you hate yourself for whimpering in disappointment. His hands slide down your sides, toying around the worn out patches and unraveling ends of your bulky sweater. Callused fingers worm their way under your sweater—rubbing at the fatty deposits (which are totally not proof of you being chubby or a bit overweight) under soft grey skin. 

“F-fuck…damn you and your…hands…fu…”

There are not enough fucks in the world to counter how you feel. Strider is a master of body language; he reads you like a book on writing shitty rap lyrics. And he knows that every flutter of your eyelash means you want more of his pale fingers thursting inside of you. And every pant means you want him to tell you how wet your nook is and ask you how badly you want.

He wonders what’s got you so worked up today. You say (as best you can with three fingers sliding inside of you) that maybe his ugly shades are the world’s greatest aphrodisiac. He laughs that you’re just a short, horny fuck. You demand that he stop being a bulgetease and fuck you already.

He doesn’t argue with you at this point. Strider may be the king of self-control and restraint but he’s not above being a horny fuck.     

And _fuck_ its fun riding that weird fleshy alien bulge of his and—and oh gods. _Oh gods_ by the end of it you are both sweating and panting like you just rode all the rickety rollercoasters at the Mirth Gras carnival and it’s a miracle you’re both still alive. You both lay on the bed, soaking up summertime sun streaming through the window.

You may have drifted off to sleep, absorbing the warmth. You lay there, arms resting against him. When you do fully wake up, you kiss him as delicate as a butterfly landing on a flower petal.

You whisper, “Love you…”

Strider’s shades are threatening to completely fall off his face. He stares at you for a minute. Uh oh. You didn’t mean to say that. This feels awkward. You shouldn’t have said that. How long have you been with Strider? It hasn’t even been a week yet—and yet you moved into his mobilehive. Fuck. Say something. Say something to break the awkwardness you are now feeling. Anything.

“I uh. Fuck. What I meant. Was…”

Nope. Brain not cooperating. System failure. Critical error. Restart necessary. Should consider fleeing the room before you look even more ridiculous.

Strider smiles and kiss you back. “Love you too, Karkat…”

You stare at him.

“You’re not weirded out.” you say, “What is wrong with you, Strider?”

Strider smirks and ruffles your rough bushy hair, “Why should I be weirded out? I wouldn’t have let you live under my bed and snuggle me to your heart’s content unless I liked you back just as much.”

“Yeah…but, uh, are you forgetting the fact that I’m still a troll and you’re still a human? Unlike you guys, we have three versions of love. Most of you guys are weirded out by that; humans I mean.”

“Dude, Karkat, I’ve lived around all you trolls for _years._ You think I wouldn’t be used to all the weird shit in your overcomplicated love lives?”

“So…you won’t freak out when I want a kismesis?”

“I really doubt you’ll find anyone you could hate that much and overpower.” Strider sits up and you whine; you want to go back to sleep sleep and now your matesprite picks this as the time to start moving around. “Listen, you can’t cling to me all day. I actually want to work. Can’t you go bother Terezi for the rest of the day?”

“Terezi…?”

You try to think of the last time you talked to Terezi one on one. Usually you hit her up accidentally in that chat group you made way back in middle school to complain about Eridan as a group and go out of your way to exclude him. You haven’t talked to Terezi directly in…a year? Maybe more if you exclude those times you were paired up in groups for class.

“We haven’t talked in a while.” you conclude.

Strider eases over to his dresser shoved next to his bed and picks up your iHusk resting on it. Immediately he starts pressing away, “How long is a while? I saw her go over your old trailer last night; figured she was looking for you.”

“What? Really? But she knows I’ve been staying with you…” You shrug, “We haven’t talked in maybe a few years. Things were hectic during sophomore year and next year is going to be worse.”

You groan. Next year is graduation and you have no fucking clue what you’re going to do for a living. You have no skills that’d be helpful in the real world. Lalonde has her writing and verbose theohorrorcratic research. Kanaya has her fashion. Strider has his music. Egbert has his acting…and you? You’ve got literally jack shit that’s worth going to college for.  

“Sounds like you need to make up for lost time.”

Strider tosses your iHusk to you. You look at it and see he has replaced the wallpaper with an ironic picture of himself posing ridiculously while watering…a hamburger? Why is he watering a hamburger? And why is every cabinet in the kitchen open? Was this taken in the kitchen this morning? There’s also a caption at the bottom of the picture, like it’s one of those motivational posters—stating _“The camera just went off when I was posing like this. I am not a model.”_

You groan and look at your matesprite, “Oh my gods, Strider. Are you a teenaged girl? Why are you on my wallpaper? And why are you watering a hamburger? Did you take this picture this morning while I was out getting my shit?”

“The real question is…why am I _not_ on your wallpaper?”

“Oh great. You have infected my iHusk with shades wearing douchebaggery. I should plaster my nook and bulge all over your husktop just to match yours in equal obnoxiousness.”

You lay down on the bed. Strider sits up and goes back to his turntables—not giving a shit that he’s nude and still sticky with your genetic fluids. You open your Trollichum app and decide to see what Terezi’s up to. Her status says she’s online but idle. Its Saturday…morning? The sun’s too bright for it to still be morning? Late afternoon? You check the iHusk and confirm the time for 2:16PM. Terezi is one of the few people in your neighborhood that isn’t working for the weekends at this time; might as well see what she’s up to.    

 

\--carcinoGeneticist began trolling gallowsCalibrator!—

CG: HEY, TEREZI. YOU THERE?

 

You don’t get a response until three minutes later.

 

GC: H3Y K4RK4T

GC: WH4TS UP?

CG: JUST WONDERING WHAT YOU WERE UP TO.

CG: I THINK WE SHOULD HANG OUT MORE. LIKE WE USED TO.

GC: 1TS OK4Y

GC: 1 KNOW YOU'V3 B33N BUSY

CG: NOT REALLY. JUST AVOIDING THE SCARY CLOWN NEXT DOOR, DUCKING KANKRI, DEALING WITH QUADRANTS, BUT I'VE PRETTY MUCH MOVED IN WITH STRIDER NOW.

CG: WHAT ARE YOU UP TO?

GC: OH NOTH1NG

GC: S1TT1NG 4ROUND

GC: NO ON3 1S 4BOUT TH3S3 D4YS

CG: WHY DON'T YOU COME OVER THEN? I'M JUST LAYING AROUND. I MISS YOU.

CG: I THOUGHT YOU HUNG OUT WITH VRISKA AND TAVROS THESE DAYS? DOING YOUR WHOLE SNB NERD THING?

GC: SH3 1S OFF DOWNTOWN

GC: TH3R3’S 4 S4L3 OF DIC3 4ND G4M3BOOKS AT SOM3 STOR3 1 TH1NK

GC: T4VROS 1S H4N43L’S ‘SW33T 4SS HO’ ON TH3 W33K3NDS

GC: MOM’S AT WORK

GC: SO 1S SOLLUX

GC: DAD 1S ON 4 COD M4R4THON SCR34M1NG 4T SOM3ON3 CALL3D ‘MADDAWG300’

GC: SO 1M JUST GO1NG TO S1T 1NS1D3 AND W4TCH R3RUNS OF PYRALSP1T3BALL Z

CG: TEREZI, ARE YOU OKAY? I NEVER KNEW YOU TO BE THE TYPE OF TROLL TO JUST LAY AROUND ALL DAY, AT LEAST NOT DURING THE SUMMER. WE USED TO RUN AROUND ALL OVER THE PLACE AS KIDS.

GC: 3H NOTH1NG TO DO THOUGH

GC: BUMM3D SOM3 P4BST OFF K4NKR1

 

You sit up with an annoyed growl.

 

CG: TEREZI, DON'T DRINK THAT SWILL. IT'LL PUT HOLES IN YOUR BRAIN.

GC: THAT’S JUST 4 S4Y1NG KARKAT B33R DO3SN’T R34LLY PUT HOL3S 1N YOUR BR41N

GC: 1T JUST MAK3S YOU FORG3T

GC: TH1S 1SN’T TH3 F1RST T1M3 JUST GOT TH3M TODAY

CG: THAT’S IT. I'M COMING OVER.

GC: K4RK4T YOU DONT H4V3 TO

GC: 1M F1N3 R34LLY

GC: 1TS JUST 4 DR1NK

CG: TOO FUCKING BAD I'M COMING OVER ANYWAYS.

CG: PREPARE FOR MY SHINING LOUD PRESENCE.

 

You get off the bed and grab your pants and underwear you tossed off in the frenzied heat of Strider fucking you.

Strider looks at you, “Where are you going? You’re putting on pants so it must be important.”

“Ha fucking _ha_ , Strider.” You zip up your pants, “I have to go see Terezi. She sounds pretty miserable.”

“Sounds?”

“Well, _types_ miserable but she doesn’t sound happy. I’ve known Terezi long enough to know when she’s unhappy.” You pull on your sweater. “She’s drinking Pabst, for godssake.”

“Huh, really? Didn’t take her for a drinker what with how crazy Latula is about substances. She doesn’t even allow cough syrup in their trailer.”

“That’s why I’m— _wait_ , she doesn’t even allow cough syrup?” Strider shakes his head. “How do you know that?”

Strider shrugs, “Just cause you don’t talk to her doesn’t mean _I_ don’t. Latula’s been substance crazy since Mituna’s burn out. You need cough meds to make crystal soporin after all. Everybody knows that. Why do you think it’s under lock and key at all the pharmacies?”

You sigh and put your sneakers on, “Well, I’m going over.” You walk to the door, “I might be back late.”

“Alright. I’ll save you some dinner then.”

“As long as it’s not anymore black pudding, feel free to do so.”

 

Jake seemed intent on making you more (slightly) overweight with his fatty Young British cooking based on using every part of the animal—whether you want it or not.

* * *

You vaguely remember Terezi and Sollux living further away way into the past, but in the mobilehive park they’re only two mobilehives down from where Strider lives. It’s one of the few mobilehives with a clean lawn and porch not cluttered with old furniture, garbage, or toys.

The door isn’t locked though; very few doors are locked at this time of day in the mobilehive park with people having nothing worth stealing and it being boiling hot outside. You walk into living room and see Mituna is pressing away on his ZGS3 controller, screaming into his headset.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, MADDAWG! I GOT YOU FAIR AND FUCKING SQUAR— _OH YOU, BITCH!_ BITCH, YOU DID NOT JUST SNIPE ME! OH, IT’S ON NOW!”

You leave Mituna to scream at what is most likely a little kid that keeps killing him during Condescension of Duty. You walk to the back of the trailer and guess that the room with the shut door and pictures of old covers of GameBro on it must be Sollux’s while the slightly opened door with cutouts of Troll Vegeta, Gamblignant Moon and her Gamblignant Warriors, and Newtype Magazine covers is Terezi’s.

You push open the door and see Terezi lying on her daybed, intently watching the TV sitting on the low table. She wears only a tanktop and shorts, taking the occasional sip of Pabst and watching (Smelling? Tasting? Whatever.) Troll Goku once again scream so he can perform the Spirit Bomb.  

 

You tilt your head, “Huh. You kind of remind me of Kankri right now, but with _smaller_ tits.”   

“Oh shut up, Karkat. I’m not even drunk.” Terezi grumbles.

You sit on the bed. “Terezi, tell me what’s going on. I’m all ears.”

“I’m just killing time, Karkat. Nothing’s wrong. I said you didn’t have to come over. Everyone’s a wreck. I’m just bored out of my thinkpan.”

“… _thinkpan_?”

Terezi yawns, “It’s an Old Alternian word for ‘skull’. Grandma Redglare still says it.”

You don’t know what to do in this situation. Usually Terezi is the one listening to you rant and rave about something. Should you touch her shoulder? Should you hug her? She’s never hugged you when you’re in a bad mood, but she is your friend.

You decide to put your arm around her. “You’re not a wreck, Terezi.”

“I know that.” She pulls away from your arm and searches under the sheets for the remote control. She turns up the volume of Troll Goku assaulting Freeza with the Spirit Bomb. “Why are you here acting like I am?”

You withdraw the rejected arm, “Cause…I’m worried about you and…you’re my friend…” You run your claws through your rough hair, “…well, _fuck_ , Terezi, if you hadn’t talked to Strider, I wouldn’t even be in matespriteship with him right now.”

“That’s what friends do; make each other happy.”

But by no stretch of the imagination does she sound happy about admitting that; her tone is more bitter and resigned. You fidget on the bed, knowing you’ve hit a wall with her on that front. You try to move to your next favorite topic—discussing quadrants.

“So…how’s your flush quadrant doing?” you ask.

Terezi snorts, “Empty as ever.”

“Oh come on, Terezi. You’re smart and pretty. There has to be some guy or girl who’s said they flush you.”

Terezi takes another sip of her beer, “I’d rather not talk about it, Karkat.”

Fuck, you’re no good at this ‘being a helpful friend’ thing. A rabid cat would be more helpful than you are being right now. You turn your attention to the TV, looking at Troll Goku’s shocked face as the Spirit Bomb has no effect on Freeza and now Freeza has set the planet of Namek to explode. These must be the bootlegs Terezi made when you were kids, pirated off the live broadcasts of Trollnami since the old Cartoon Network logo is sitting in the corner.

You smile, “Gods, this trollanime is so fucking _terrible_. Just listen to that _dubbing._ Remember how much we used to love this show?”

“I still like it…” Terezi mumbles.

Your grin, “Really? You still love PyralspiteBall Z?”

Terezi makes a face, “Yeah? So?” She turns her head back to the TV as the CGI announcer (What was his name again? Tom?) says Trollnami will return after this break, “Just go away if you’re going to tease me for that.”

“I’m not teasing you, Terezi.”

“Uh huh.”

You lay down next to her as the TV starts blaring old commercials for toys that haven’t been on the market for years. Terezi’s useless eyes are still on the screen. She sniffs intensely with her mouth open—focused on tasting and smelling the air while her brain assembles the different particles of light and sound to form a proper picture. You try to snuggle close to her. Terezi remains folded so tightly into her frame like its freezing cold inside and she’s trying to maintain what little body heat she has.

“Heh. It’s like being kits again.” you say, “There’s even that old Applejacks commercial.”

“Only we’re bigger and uglier.” Terezi adds after another sip of Pabst.  

“You’re not ugly. You never were. You’re just bigger. You were always adorable, like that Eldritch Night you went around in your Scalemate hoodie Latula sewed for you? And then you refused to take it off at school the next day? Then you bit the teacher when she tried to make you take it off.”

She takes a larger gulp of beer, “I was still a kit then.” 

You sigh as you watch Terezi down the last bit of beer left in the can. “Terezi…just…be honest with me, okay? It’s like everyone around here has something on their mind and they’re not being honest with each other anymore. We don’t even know what half our friends are really doing.”

“Calling the kettle black now, Vantas?”

Terezi slides away from you and grabs a six-pack of Pabst that’s already missing two cans. She places the now empty can on the floor next to a six pack that only has two cans left. Her movements are sluggish and her fingers are clumsy. How many beers has she already downed by herself?  

She rolls her eyes. “I’m transparent as fuck. Me stupid blind girl. Me no do anything. End of story.”

You grab the hand that’s reaching for the beer. “Stop it. That’s the same sort of talk that made Kankri into a drunk. You’re not stupid. You may be blind but that doesn’t make you stupid, Terezi. It means people are just more upfront with you and that’s good.”

Terezi tries to tug her hand away. “Let _go_ , Karkat. I’m fine, okay? It’s not my fault you’re so dense.”

“ _Dense_? What are you talking about?” You see her other hand reaching out for the sixpack and you grab it. “Hey! No beer! We’re talking!”

She tries to twist out of your grip with a snarl, “What are you— _my_ _mother_? Let _go_ , Karkat!”

You both fall on the daybed—you trying to wrestle her away from the sixpack and Terezi determined to get at it. She’s slightly bigger than you being a coldblood, but you’re heavier than her. You sit on her waist, trying to keep her still. She looks up at you, growling. Her cheeks are flushed with teal from the alcohol in her system.

“No fucking way! I’m your friend, Terezi! Your _best friend_ and best friends don’t let other friends start drinking their problems away like Kankri!”

“Well, _Vriska_ is my best friend! _Not you!”_

Your grip on her arm slackens. “W-what? What are you talking about? I’m your friend more than Spiderbitch _ever_ _was_!”

_“You are so fucking dense!”_

You aren’t prepared for the hard shove to the diaphragm. You fall flat on your back and lay there like a helpless turtle. Terezi wobbles, trying to sit up on her knees. She’s too tipsy to do it easily and falls onto her side the first time. The second time she succeeds. Her glasses have fallen off her face and you look at her burned and damaged eyes, which are as red as your mutant blood.  

“I had a crush on you all throughout elementary, middle, _and_ high school and _you never fucking noticed!_ ” Terezi shouts, “Now you come over here all cuddly and talking about how pretty I am? Fuck you, Vantas! Fuck. _You!_ ”

You stare at her.

“…what?”

You sit up on your elbows.

“What…Terezi…wait you…? _What?_ Why me? I always…I always thought you were out of my league!”

“Well clearly you _weren’t_ so just go away, would you?” Terezi bends over and yanks a can off the six-pack plastic and cracks it open.

“Terezi, _drinking_ isn’t going to solve the problem.”

You reach for the can but she moves away from you, “And you being here makes me want to drink _more_!”

You sigh, “Okay…okay, I’ll leave but you have…you have to _promise_ me you’ll stop. Just stop fucking drinking if I leave. Okay? Please?”

Terezi growls and—for the first time in your memory—she shows you her fangs. “I’m not promising you anything. After all those years of listening to you rant and rave about _absolutely nothing_ because I liked you, you know what I got? The mother of all friendzonings!”

“Terezi…fuck, I…I didn’t realize you liked me like that! I always thought you’d go for, I don’t know…a more _stable_ guy. A guy who’d always be by your side and would support you no matter what. You know I’ve fucked up every relationship I’ve attempted to be in...whether it was romantic or platonic.”

“No shit.” She turns her back to you, “So fuck off and let me wallow in the friendzone with all the other morons who couldn’t get a clue early enough.”

You slide off the bed and stand up. You feel another wall going up—a fourth wall that’s closing you out entirely. There’s nothing you can do now. She won’t listen to whatever you have to say and you don’t know the right magic words to say to bring the walls back down.

“…I’ll go. Just…just don’t drink yourself into a coma, okay?”

Her attention is back on the TV screen just as the next episode of PyralspiteBall Z starts with the Planet Namek still getting ready to explode. If nostalagic memory serves, it’s going to be “ready to explode” for the next couple of episodes.

You decide to leave the mobilehive as quickly and quietly as possible.   


	2. nest of sadness

**== >Karkat: Go to comfort zone**

 

“Karkat?”

You are under the Strider’s bed. Strider is kneeling on the floor to try and look at what you’re doing under there this time.

“Karkat, what’s wrong?”

You don’t respond. You didn’t say a word when you got back to the trailer. You searched through your two boxes and pulled out everything that reminded you of Terezi. There was the PyralspiteBall Z manga you bought when you were ten at the comic book shop on Park Avenue, the four issues of the official Digispawn Magazine, your box sets of the Digispawn trollanime seasons one and two, and your favorite two volumes of the Gamblignant Moon manga where Gamblignant Moon returned to the Twin-Moon Kingdom and learning about her past life as Princess Spinneret and her tragic flush-romance with the Alternian noble, Prince Summoner.

“You’re back early and…”

You snuggle in your blanket and pillow, and look at your Gamblignant Moon manga volume three. There’s a bookmarker that’s been in here for years. It’s yellowed printer paper and the image on it is distorted and pixelated. The memory of it comes back to you as if it happens yesterday and not years ago.

Elementary school. Terezi and you had commandeered the library computers for personal use while the librarian is out on smoke break. You quickly located your favorite website to read free scanlations of the Gamblignant Moon manga. You printed out a picture from the official art book of the characters in their formalwear and cut them into slivers. Terezi handed you one of Gamblignant Jupiter, your second favorite next to the main character.   

“…and what are you… _doing_?”      

The bookmark is old now…just like your friendship. Oh gods that sounds so fucking pathetic and sappy but your eyes are starting to sting. No. Fuck it. Not going to cry. Who the fuck cries over losing friendships that have lasted through the years? Who the fuck starts sniffling about losing the only person you felt you could talk to since you were three? Immediately a few candidates come to mind: teenagers on sitcoms, cartoons, characters in poorly written fanfiction…

…oh yeah. And _you_. You’re pretty much soaking your old shitty manga with even shittier New Japanese-to-English translations, you big fucking _pansy_. Fuck it. You’re not just _a_ big fucking pansy. You’re the _king_ of the big fucking pansies in Pansyland—where you rule over your pansy citizens with a fist made of tears and sadness.

“So…is this just another weird troll thing or something else you’re doing?” Strider asks.

“I don’t know. I’m just…gathering all the stuff that reminds me of Terezi…and laying on it.”

You don’t look at your matesprite. You scrub at your eyes and try to maintain what little pride you still have left. This is pointless though, as Strider has ears like a rat living in a kitchen and you’re not a quiet or secretive crier. No Vantas is. You all wear your hearts on your sweater sleeves.

It makes you hate Kankri a little bit more realizing this.

Strider isn’t one to let you enjoy your misery or the pile of sadness you’ve made to wallow in. He grabs one of your arms and starts trying to tug you from the pile and out from under the bed.

“Oh geeze, Karkat. Come on out from under there. You’re not a mole.”

“I don’t want to move.” you growl, but the growl has no backbone to it. It’s the sort of growl you get from an injured animal that’s too afraid to be moved. “I just want to lay in this pile of terrible manga and magazines and maybe play some Digispawn World on my iHusk if I can talk Sollux into getting me a rom…”   

You just want to enjoy all the stuff you kept because Terezi liked it…and you used to obsess over it as kids.

Strider grumbles and finally releases your arm. You may be small but you know when to act like dead weight. You scramble back to your pile and yank the blanket over your head. You lay on top of your old magazines and manga. You hear shuffling and feel a warm body press up against you.

“Okay, what the fuck happened?”

“She hates me.” you mumble, snuggling your pile of nostalgic crap like the world’s saddest gamblignant—like you didn’t have enough imagination to hoard golden doubloons and jewels so you hoarded decades old magazines from mediocre trollanime instead.

You feel something worm its way under the blanket. You open your eyes and see Strider has snuck under the blanket with you. He nestles against you, arm wrapped around your waist. You’d normally be complaining about how he always makes you the little spoon when you cuddle.

But for once…you don’t feel like complaining. You don’t even want to bitch about how hot it’s getting under the blanket with the two of you under it, or how he’s wrinkling the decades old Digispawn magazine that’s been out of print for years now. You don’t feel like complaining about how Strider is resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Terezi? Well…why are you moping about that? Doesn’t that make her your kismesistude?”

His hand strokes the small horns hidden in your hair.

“No. I mean…she hates me platonically…cause I friendzoned her for flush.” you mutter, “I didn’t realize she liked me and I don’t…I just don’t _feel_ that way about her. I know I’d be stupid and ruin it for the both of us even if we did quadrant...”

“ _Friendzone_? Shit man, that’s like the mob.” He continues stroking your horns and you give into your instincts to start purring. “But she can’t hate you platonically forever right? Terezi’s usually pretty chill. She’s probably just stressed out over something.”

“If there’s something wrong, she wouldn’t tell me what.” You pause, “ _Friendzoning_ is like the _mob_ …?”

Strider shrugs, “Yeah. Once you’re in, you never get out.”

You laugh, “Like you and Harley?”

Strider frowns, “Don’t bring that up and I won’t make any jokes about Terezi hating you.”

You try not to laugh again as Strider rolls onto his back. He’s entering ‘Nope. Not gonna talk about this.’ territory but at least talking about the quadrant miseries of others distracts your brain from obsessing about Terezi and you.

“So what happened there exactly? She doesn’t like you or—”

“I have no fucking idea so drop it.” Strider rolls away from you and climbs out from under the bed. “She likes creepy deer men anyways so it doesn’t matter.”

You poke your head out from under the blanket, “Now where are you going?”

“To check Trollbook; if Terezi’s as mad as you say she is, then she would have updated her status or something.”

Ah, Trollbook—the bane and joy of your existence along with Trollumblr and That Troll With The Glasses (if only because that latter website ate your free time). You climb out halfway from under the bed so you can see Strider get his husktop and start typing away.

“Let’s see what we have for updates…Nepeta changed her kismesistude status to pending. Kanaya’s moirallegiance status is pending too.” Strider pauses, “…and I wouldn’t read Terezi’s wall.”

“What? Why not?” You pull your iHusk out of jacket pocket and open up your Trollbook app.

Your attempts to view Terezi’s page are met with some difficulty, as you are no longer permitted to do so. You’ve been defriended.

“It’s mainly her saying how she prays to the gods you get hit by a couple of busses. Vriska and Tavros liked it…but then again, Vriska’s a bitch and Nitram’s a hood rat.”

You don’t respond. Terezi would have called it the Land of Nostalgia and Sadness if this was a S’n’B session. Maybe she would have let you learn to play with her if you weren’t such a shitty friend who was too wrapped up in his own crummy life to pay one ounce of attention as to what was going on in hers. You crawl back to your pile.

Strider groans, “Karkat, come on. Don’t make me drag you out.” He sighs, “Look, Terezi’s just tipsy and upset. She’s spelling like Roxy while she’s at work…” He chuckles, “Heh. Roxy keeps friending and defriending Jake sporadically. Jake’s probably freaking out about it. Dirk _just_ got him on Trollbook.”

“It’s one in the afternoon. Why is Roxy drunk?” Then you remember your encounter with Roxy and her job yesterday, “Nevermind…”

“Are you seriously going to stay under the bed all day?”

“I want to stay here and remember when Terezi liked me.”

“So, you’re going to act like Kankri and just lay like a blob and do nothing about this for years and years until she’s all quadranted and won’t even remember your name?”

“I don’t know what to fucking _do_ , alright?” you growl, “I tried talking to her and she got angry and wouldn’t stop fucking drinking! So she fucking hates me platonically and I’m just accepting it and not making a huge fucking deal about it!”

The bed creaks as Strider stands, “Dear gods above and below…time for Plan B then. I’m going to _lure_ you out from under there.”      

“There’s nothing that could possibly lure me out of there so too fucking bad.”

“Not even bacon with a side of Twinkies?”

Bacon. Now he’s offering you bacon. Bacon for lunch? Son of a bitch—he already knows your _weaknesses_.

“I might…be _tempted_ to eat that.” you grumble.  

“You only get it if you come out from under the bed.”

Asshole. You grab your old DVD combo-boxset of Digispawn Adventures and Digispawn Adventure 02 from the pile and drag yourself out from under the bed, “I’m still watching the first season of Digispawn while I eat my bacon and Twinkies.”

“Fine, but if you start sobbing I’m turning it off.”

“I’m not so wimpy at that I start crying while watching TV! Just who the hell do you think I am?”

* * *

Forty-five episodes later, you burst into tears. Watching Troll Tai and Troll Matt fight and break off their close friendship of eight years was a little too heartbreaking and hit a little too close to home.

Dave was a little more horrified when Troll Matt bludgeoned Troll Tai within an inch of his life with a club—mutantblood colored blood and gore explicitly shown.


	3. holes in the sponge

**== >Karkat: Be the alcoholic five hours into the past **

 

****

You are Kankri and your head is pounding. You’ve spent all of Friday in a haze of quivering fear, snarling anger, and self-hatred blended into a fogbank of alcohol and voices. You wake up early Saturday morning with a hangover that feels like the God of Air and Darkness has been hammering at your thinkpan with Vrillyhoo in the hopes of summoning a hurricane. You can’t move off the couch, let alone _think_ about moving off the couch. The lights in the mobile hive are too bright and every word harshly slaps your sponge, rattling it further.

You can barely grasp what is going on around you. Someone entering. Boxes moving. People talking. Cronus saying something—most likely about how they need to keep the noise down because you’re experiencing the mother of all fucking hangovers. The voices are mildly familiar. You remain on the couch, feeling a freshly cleaned damp spot you’re resting on.

The door shuts. The sound echoes through your thinkpan. You hear someone walk over to you. Cronus? You hope to the gods its Cronus.        

“Couldn’t even bring yourself to say goodbye to your son?” You hear Cronus give a small _tsk tsk,_ “Ain’t you a wreck, Kanny?” Cronus’s blurred shape kneels next to the couch. “How are you feeling?”

“…head…cotton mouth...voices…”

The voices are nothing new though. They’ve been something haunting you after your father’s funeral; teasing whispers and giggles saying a hundred different things—how you should take off your shirt. Take off your clothes. Bend over. Spread your legs. You’re not worth anything after all. What do you have to be embarrassed about, you slut? You’re just a mutantblood. You’re just a genetic material dumping ground to make sure the largest and strongest coldbloods survive on this alien planet. You’re a thing to be used like a scratching post and then discarded when you run dry.

You know the voices are mocking you with their compliments; like that butcher at ShopRite who always leers at you with a lusty grin in his eye, or any other coldblood passing you on the street—undressing you with their eyes and wondering if you’re an easy mutantblood or a struggler.

“Come on, Kankri. You can’t lay out here all day.” He mutters, “How you managed to crawl all the way here from your recuperacoon in the middle of the fucking night I’m never gonna understand.”

The seatroll is much bigger than you and easily carries you from the loungblock to the hygieneblock. Its when Cronus is holding you in his arms that you realize you’re only wearing a robe. Again. The teasing voices become twice as loud.

You start to tremble,“Wh-what...I-I’m not…I’m not wearing my clothes...! What happened to my fucking clothes, Cronus?”  

You try to claw your way out of his grip but you know it’s futile. You couldn’t escape your attacker. You couldn’t fight Dualscar. You were too much of a fearful weakling as a youth to learn how to use a weapon. It’s hopeless to get away from Cronus when he’s so used to your thrashing.  

“Kanny, Kanny, no. _Shush_. It’s alright. You got sick all over your sweater and pants last night. Nothing bad happened. _It’s alright._ I was here. I got you. Shush, Kanny…”

“I don’t want anyone… _anyone_ to ever take my clothes off. Please, Cronus. You have to p- _promise_ me, Cronus…y-you’re my matesprite…you have to…”

“I promise, Kanny. No one’s going to hurt you. Shush now…”

It’s the same promise you’ve made him swear to over and over again.

He enters the hygieneblock and eases you into the ablution trap. You’re not allowed to bathe on your own when you’re like this. The last time you tried, you nearly drowned in the trap. You were lucky Karkat walked in and didn’t decide your life was a waste of space.

You shudder when Cronus gently pulls the robe off. No matter how much time passes, you still feel unease crawl up your spine whenever Cronus strips you. At least Cronus is always brief and never talks about how you look when you’re soaking in warm water. He washes off whatever bile has dried under your chin and on your chest and the dried film sopor on your legs and thighs. He adds shampoo and scrubs at your scalp, taking out the knots and tangles from the week.

Saturday and Sunday are always cleaning day for you. It’s the time when Cronus rewinds your body and gets you ready for the next week of what…protests? Drinking? Hopelessness? Beating back the bottomless pit of anger, fueled by a tinderbox of triggers always threatening to ignite?

“I know…” Cronus begins.

Then he stops. Soap slides down your face. You’re thankful it’s the no-tears shampoo he always used on Karkat. He starts again a minute later:

“…I know this whole attack has dredged up a lot of…bad memories for you…for the _both_ of us really. But you have to push forward, Kanny. Okay? I can’t always be here for you and I’m scared I’m gonna come home to a corpse.”

He sprays clean water into your hair. You response is a mumble:

“Not enough holes…”

“What?” asks Cronus.

You squeeze your eyes shut and turn away from your matesprite, “Not…not enough holes…to forget. Not enough holes to make it…all go away. All of it. Not enough holes…to make me forget his voice.”

A voice that is always mocking you as it violates you and will always be faceless you. The voice that reminds you that after all these years you still can’t defend yourself. That you’ll always need to hide behind someone bigger and stronger to keep you out of harm’s way. No one wants a weakling.

Cronus does his best. He tries to comfort you as usual. He lays you back in the warm water, knowing that you like to feel the warm water on your horns.

It may as well be ice cold and full of sewer sludge for all you care.

Cronus doesn’t ask you what’s wrong. He knows it’s futile. He tells you (holding back a sigh) that time heals all wounds. You don’t respond because you know that’s a lie. You’ve had wounds for years that still won’t close; still won’t crust and scab over.

Cronus doesn’t try to talk to you any further. He rinses the soap off, dries your hair and body, puts the robe back on you, and leads you to the couch. You lay down and roll away from him.

“Listen, I’m heading to the Laundromat and going shopping for the week.” You murmur a confirming noise. “I’m probably going to be gone for a while now. Don’t open the door and don’t go outside for any reason. You’re going to be fine. It’s…” A pause to check her faux-gold watch, “…ten o’ clock right now. I should be back by five, six at the most. Is there anything you want for dinner?”

You shake your head. You hear Cronus walk away.

Time dilates when you don’t care about anyone or anything going on around you. At some point, Cronus leaves and you hear the hovercar drive away. He always takes the larger car if he’s going to the Laundromat and shopping. Idly, you wonder if you’re out of beer or if your secret stash under the couch has been harvested yet.

A man’s deep voice snickers at you. You smell tobacco and cheap alcohol.

_Already aching for another drink to drown yourself in, you fat idiot?_

_“_ Shut up.” you growl. You don’t turn away from the couch cushion pressed against you, “Shut up and go away, old man.”

The man laughs.     

 _Oh look at you now, Kankri. I leave and you just fall to pieces. You’ve always been a pathetic weakling. What’s wrong? You need your precious_ Daddy _to haul your ass off the fucking couch?_

“Shut! Up!” You knot your fists against your ears.

_But I’m here, aren’t I, Kankri? Maybe I’m alive right now, walking around disguised as the son of a preacher man or a hapless human who begs for the rights of others…_

The voice breaks his serious tone with amused snickering.

_HA!_

You heard the disappoint “tsk tsk” in her voice as he says,

 _My_ gods _, Kankri. The simpering shameful dreams your mind would_ ache _to believe. And that was only the least pathetic one I picked out of your alcohol soaked thinkpan. One of your many despairing hopes crashed on craggy rocks of reality. You were the last to see my corpse, you little boy. You whimpering child…_

You sit up, eyes full of tears. Your father sits next to you on the couch, legs stretched out like he fucking owns it. He dwarfs you in size, like he always has. You were always so small compared to your father—so short, so fat, and a much paler grey because you were born on his alien planet.

 

Your father looks at you and you see his colorless eyes exhume a rich, unadulterated hatred that you wouldn’t _dare_ call caliginous.  

You scream at him, _“Leave me alone, y-you monstrous…m-man! Y-you’re triggering me into rage! Go…go fuck off and_ di-die already _!”_

It’s a horrifically empty threat though. You’re crying through your outburst.

 _How can you_ kill _what is already_ dead _, Kankri, you fearful little crybaby?_

The spectre snickers and evaporates off the couch, leaving only laughter, tobacco smoke, and your tears. He only leaves when you are weeping and once again aching for a drink. The alcohol weakens time and keeps his ghost at bay; you don’t care if your brain ends up looking like Swiss Cheese after a few years. You’ve already forgotten so many things…at least you can sleep easier at night now.

At least you can _sleep_ period.   

A knock at the door snaps out of your personal miseries. Oh fuck. This is honestly the last thing you need right now, or _want_. Fuck, you need a drink. Your heads pounding, you can still hear your father’s taunting voice, and you _desperately need a drink._ You stumble to your feet and walk to the door. You turn the knob, not caring who may be behind it.

You wouldn’t recognize your attacker anyways and he’s already savaged your body once, so who cares about a second time?

It’s the last troll you expect though.

Terezi smiles at you. “Hey there, Kankri.”

You stare at the tealblood and then slowly stumble back. You struggle not to trip over and fall on the ground. You stare at her.

“What…what are you…?” You shake your head, “Kar…karkat’s not here.”

“Well…I did come to see him…”

You look at Terezi’s face. She’s always been a pretty girl with her pinched nose, smooth skin, her rows of sharp teeth, and enjoyably infectious laughter. You’d think even the scars around her damaged eyes are pretty—the pattern reminding you of intricate cobwebs.

You feel the heat rise to your face. You find your eyes immediately going to the floor, now too embarrassed to look at her. O _h_ _gods_ this is pathetic. You’re getting flustered around a godsdamned _teenager_ who is also your oldest son’s best friend _._ On the list of pathetic things, _that_ is truly the worse for you. You walk to the couch and crouch on the ground. You reach under the old furniture and grope in the underside darkness for your secret stash.

You don’t care how short and awkward your robe is; anything is better than looking at Terezi’s face right now. Terezi doesn’t seem to mind.

She walks beside you, “But seeing as Karkles isn’t around… mind if I bum a few cans of beer off you?”

You find a six pack stored all the way in the back of the couch, pressing against the wall. You drag it out, grinning at your buried treasure. Even with all the self-inflicted holes in your thinkpan, you know this isn’t Terezi’s first visit of bumming alcohol off of you.

The only difference is that you’re mildly coherent this time. Mildly. You smile the smallest bit, “…y-you’re…you gotta make sure you don’t drink too much. You’ll end up like me if you do. Holes in the sponge…”

Terezi chuckles, “Just a few to take the edge off everything, Kankri. You know how it is.”

You sit on the couch and pull a can off the six-pack for yourself. You crack it open. You need far more holes in your sponge if you want to erase _everything_ about the past. You’ve forgotten five whole years of your grub-and-kithood, with only little flecks of memory in-between the gaps.

Just how you want it. With enough effort and alcohol you’ll soon forget your father’s voice, his smell, and his laugh.

And then you’ll be in fucking heaven.

“Help yourself, Rezi…” and you chug back a can.

You’re not sure what helps the time go by faster—the alcohol or having someone to talk to. The only downside is that talking with Terezi—although fun—slows down your drinking considerably. It’s also habit to drink less when you’re around her; remnant memories of her sleepovers with Karkat when they were small. Cronus would be working and it’d be your job to watch the kids so you couldn’t get _too_ drunk. Plus Terezi would always be up and wondering what you were doing opening another can when you already had two. Even as a kit she was incredibly nosy—always poking her nose into other people’s business.

“How’s everyone doing, Rezi?” you ask.

“Honestly?” Terezi leans back on the couch. She sits where your father’s ghost had been, “I don’t think there is _one_ _person_ in this trailer park not in deep shit, keeping some deep dark secret, or both.”

“R-Rezi…” You try to touch her shoulder but you fail. You’re already two beers deep and far too uncoordinated for even this simple gesture. “Rezi, I…I don’t like when people…keep secrets…my Dad…did nothin’ but that…”

Terezi helps you sit back up on the couch. Your head is swimming a bit, “ _Whoa_ , Kankri. You’re drunk off your ass.”

“Always keepin’ secrets but…but I…liked you… _always_ liked you…” you mutter.

Her face goes teal. She mutters sand tries to help you sit up more. The half-empty can in your hand slackens and threatens to spill. Luckily, Terezi catches it in time before you add more stains to the ratty carpet.

“…Karkat…Karkat’s a stupid fuck for not re-realizing how…how pretty you are, Rezi…”

Terezi thin, pretty— _so fucking pretty—_ lips twist down into a frown. “He always had a thing for someone else. Maybe I’m just not his type. So I figured…why not set him up with the supposed ‘asshole’ he comaplains about all the time? At least that would get him to stop whining about it so much.”

You smile, “Y-you were always…a good kid. Y’know I…I always liked your _Mom_ but you…you I like _more_...’cause…you’re _smarter_ than she ever was. More… _honest_ too.”

Terezi laughs and shakes her head. “No way! Mom’s the brains of the family. Some people say she was stupid for sticking with Dad after…everything that happened…but when you flush someone _that_ _strongly_ you have to take the _good_ with the _bad_.”  

You try to hold up your index finger. You point it at her. You try to look all serious but still your words slur in your mouth, “People smart. You…you are people smart…not just book smart. You know people… _real_ _good_.”  

Terezi puts the half-empty can on the coffee table crowded with old newspapers and social justice newsletters. “They just open up to me because I’m blind and harmless. That’s all there is to it.” You struggle to sit up and Terezi shakes her head again, chuckling, “Kankri, lay down. You’re drunk.”

She’s trying to get you to lie down and sleep off the increasing buzz in your thinkpan but you refuse. You don’t want to lie down. You can’t remember the last time Terezi came over here and you’re not going to squander this moment. You refuse to just let opportunity pass you by while this memory swirls down another hole in your sponge. You try to sit up but your body’s turned traitorous; you slump forward and lean against her shoulder.

“No… _not_ harmless.”

She smells like native New Jack City wildflowers and weeds that should be in the middle of their blossoming season now—swamp rose and wild clover. You breathe in the scent, and feel a low vibration drum up from your throat. You purr against her shoulder, eyes half-shut. You feel the chill of her face intensify. You often forget that Terezi is a coldblood; that if this was ancient Alternia she would be nobility and you would have been culled long ago.

“You know what trolls think about the handicapped. Look at Tavros. He was perfectly able to care for himself after his accident but no one, not even himself, could see that. It was always about how he was going to be crippled for life and would always need someone to help him.”

She tries to pull away from you. You put your arm to her waist and hold her close.

“N-no…please…please don’t go, Terezi…I-I miss talking to you…I’m so…” Oh gods, you’re getting ready to cry out of nervous fear, “…I’m lonely and I’m _scared_ …”

You feel her chest heave as she sighs. A chilled hand pats you on the back.

“There there...”

The pats on the back only remind you of your sexless matespritship—of how Cronus spent yesterday night rubbing your back and cleaning up your mess as he always does without bemoaning his fate or complaint (or at least one you can hear).

You can still hear your father—snickering at your false flush feelings for the “fish”, as he never bothered referring to Cronus by name.

You are soaking Terezi’s shoulder with your cherry-tinted tears. You feel like a child again, hiccupping, “…I-I just…I just want someone to…to love me…why…why can’t I…? I don’t understand…why I can’t be happy…”

“I’m sure Cronus loves you. He did pick a fight with Kurloz for you after…what happened.”

“He doesn’t do that because he loves me. He does that because…because he feels _guilty_. Nothing but _guilt_ ; not even the most _basic_ feelings of pity. Because of everything that happened…he never flushed me. We only… _oh gods_ …”

The memories are flooding back. Your first taste of burning brandy shoved down your throat and filling your stomach. The smell of sea-salt stinging your nose and gargling as your head was angled up by webbed fingers for a second pouring. A voice telling you that you shouldn’t be grubsitting only one or two shots if you’re going to get on with it. A voice telling—no, not telling. Ordering. Ordering you to put away the rest of that bottle.

Terezi strokes your hair. You don’t let go of her, “…maybe you should stop drinking? And when you feel like you want a drink, you should do something else. Get a different hobby. That helped my Dad after his burnout, when he was still addicted to mind honey. Do something to give yourself some confidence…”

“I-I don’t have any skills…I’m talentless. My father always said so and he was right...right about everything.”

“No, he wasn’t Kankri. You…you just let his words get to you. If I let all the things Mituna… _used_ to say about me go to heart, I’d probably be an addict too. But I didn’t…I took his insults as a personal challenge.”

“I-I hate that bastard…th-that bastard and he…he was so sweet to Karkat…and he hated me…his own fu-fucking _son…_ ”

You’ll never forget how your father reserved all hatred and bile for you; how he went out of his way to make it obvious how much he hated you. How he gave Karkat his treasured amulet from his dead homeworld although you were his son and the bastard _knew_ you had an active interest in making the world a better place. That _you_ could have been a preacher, that _you_ were the one who preached and tut-tutted people on exploiting and offending the past and present injustices of others.

“Well, you can’t find love sitting here and getting drunk Kankri. You have to get out there. Plenty of fish in the sea…you just have to get the motivation to cast a line.”

You tremble, “I…I’m scared…people wouldn’t want me…I’m used up.”

“Hey now. _Anyone_ can find love, Kankri. Don’t be scared, okay?”

“But I am…I’m scared of the world…after all the things it’s done to people…” you whimper, “…the world is horrible and I’ve only been exposed to a small fraction of its…its abuses…”

“There are good things in it too, Kankri! Just because we hit a low point doesn’t mean it won’t _ever_ get better.”

She sits you up a little so you can look at her face. Your face is still flush though now you’re not sure if its alcoholic or the embarrassment of being so close to her right now.

“You just got to help _yourself_ , Kankri _._ You can’t wait on gods and miracles.” Terezi smiles, “ _You_ have to make them happen.”

You wipe at your irritated eyes, “…I don’t believe in…in _gods_ …”

Terezi shrugs, “Then I guess you have to believe in yourself then, eh?  cheer up…and give me a smile.”

“I-I don’t know…”

“Please, Kankri? For me?” Terezi slides her claws down the side of your face.

Your lips twitch. The corners of your mouth turn up into the smallest smile possible. It feels like it’s been years since you genuinely smiled. It almost hurts, like there’s unseen hooks stretching your face.

“O-okay…how’s this…?”

“Oh, you can do better than _that_. Think of kitten and lollipops or something—something that’ll make you _happy_.”

Terezi is still grinning at you. She’s trying. She’s honestly trying to cheer you up. You don’t understand why. Why is she helping you? You don’t remember going out of your way to be kind to her but with all holes in your sponge, maybe you’ve forgotten something? Some extraordinary deed you did that might have warranted her attention and caring? You really don’t understand this. But she wants you to smile. So, you look at Terezi’s toothy smile with its sharp little teeth and you flash a big grin.

 “I-I can think of something…”

“That’s good! Always good to have something that makes you happy that you can think of when you’re at your worse.” she chuckles.

You feel a small part of you flake off like snakeskin. “I-I’m definitely thinking of something that makes me happy right now.”

“I have plenty of happy thoughts. Heh.” Terezi slides away from you. She grabs the rest of the six pack; the last of your stash. Oh well. You’re already buzzed and you don’t want to ruin your robe when that’s the only clean thing you have left. “If I get some pixie dust, I could fly.”

You’re too tipsy to follow her or even get off the couch without tripping over the coffee table. She walks to the door. Your eyelids droop.

“Terezi…” you mutter.

She pauses in the doorway and turns to look at you. “Yeah?”

“I…” you stammer, “…I-I wish I could flush you…”

Her face goes bright teal. “W-what…?”

“I wish. I could. Flush you.”

Terezi shakes her head, “You don’t mean that…”

You nod, “Yes. Yes, I do…”

“You’re drunk, Kankri. Ju-just go to sleep...”

“No…I…I can _talk_ to you. I always felt flush for you but I was…too scared.” You look down, “Too _old_ …I thought you’d like Karkat better after all this time…y-you were always so nice.”

“Karkat has Dave and I’m happy for him.” Terezi walks back over to you. Her claws touch the creases in your face, the bags under eyes. “You aren’t _that_ old, Kankri.”

You smile sadly, “Old enough to be your father…”

“When has age ever mattered to trolls?”

“I thought it would matter…being so old and…a-and worn compared to you, Rezi.”

“You aren’t that old Kankri. You’re about the same age as my Mom and she has no white hairs. She’s still as lively as ever.”

“I-I couldn’t possibly be your mother. She’s a far braver woman than I ever was.”

“You’re just depressed, Kankri. You could be just as lively as her with some work.”

Depressed? Would that be the word for it? You’re not sure. You never considered yourself depressed. Depressed people wanted to kill themselves, didn’t they? You…well, you never really _thought_ about death or even suicide. Well—in all triggering honesty—you had contemplated it; the ways you could kill yourself. All the ways to embrace death’s molten touch were frightening. You read how people who overdose on pills and alcohol suffer as they perish, becoming twist and bent over. You were no good with guns, knives, nooses, or poisons. All of it could be so easily botched and render you deformed or a cripple.

“…just…just please come back and…y-you’ll come visit me again? Won’t you?” you ask.

She pats your shoulder, “I’ll stop by when I can, okay?”

“Thank you, Terezi…”

You don’t know if she will come back though, but you don’t stop her from going through the door. Terezi’s still a young girl who’s on her own path to greatness in life. You? You tried to travel along some path barely visible by dirt before being shoved down a hopbeast-hole elsewhere by time and addiction.

You look at your reflection in the loungeblock window, cast in dull orange and yellow from the bright sunlight.  

You see a tired troll with messy black hair and bags under his eyes from tumultuous nearly-sleepless nights. You know you’re thirty-eight years old. You can’t even remember the date of your hatching anymore, at least not in this alcohol addled state.

You feel like you spent a millennia in dreambubble limbo and have all the aches and pains of senior citizenship to bear down on your all-too mortal body.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more Trailerstuck art, info, and even ask responses head over to bad-imagination.tumblr.com. :)


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